Trial by Fire
by Cyn V
Summary: Short story of how Leo Aiolia won his cloth.
1. The Sanctuary gathers

**Disclaimer: _Saint Seiya_ (c) Kurumada, not me****_.  
_A/N: I wrote this about three years ago and just rediscovered it on my harddrive as I was looking for pics of Aiolia. It's his birthday today. It follows anime-verse and is slightly AU if you take _Episode G_ into account.**

* * *

**I.  
Aiolia vs. Phaeton;  
The Sanctuary gathers.**

Saga picked up the cup of wine resting on the table beside him and calmly brought it to his lips. The afternoon breeze was stirring up the dust and sand from the coliseum's arena and carrying it all the way up to the private platform on the highest spot of the stands that was reserved to him, the Great Pope, the leader of Athena's Saints. Along with the overwhelmingly hot Athenian sun that had yet to set, it was making his lips dry and his breath coarse. He took a small sip, then replaced the adorned cup to its place, mindful to lay a protective white, finely embroidered cloth over it, and turned his attention to the arena.

Down below, his right-hand man, Gigars, was waiting, impatient, for Saga to finish refreshing himself. As soon as he saw the Pope shifting in his direction with the slightest of nods, the grey-haired man went about transmitting the order to proceed to his subordinates.

Personally, he was of the opinion that the sooner this matter was dealt with, the better. He thought that what the Pope was doing was not only needless, but a downright affront to all the rules and traditions of their home, the Sanctuary, and of the great goddess Athena. Everything about this spectacle was a huge mistake. Orders were orders, though, and it was his duty to obey them no matter how much he'd like to tell the Pope to reconsider. Vehemently.

Receiving the signal from their short crystal-eyed commander, two guards went about opening the gates that would allow the fighters into the arena. The doors grated against the metallic structure around them like a lamenting wounded beast, but, as soon as they were open wide enough to reveal the champion waiting behind them, that wailing was replaced by thunderous applause from the audience.

Wherever one looked, the stands were full. A crowd of guards, saints and trainees all gathered to watch the strange, never-before-seen fight were unanimously cheering on the tall, slender young man heading towards Gigars at the centre. His steady, confident gait at the welcoming was obvious for anyone to see.

The deafening applause, whistling, shouts for encouragement and strength coming from all over the circular arena all strengthened the message that the old one-eyed commander would like to give to the Pope: "this fight is useless. Cancel it while there's still time."

Saga had already noticed the look on Gigars's face, though, and despite the man's cowardly restraint in making his protests known, he was fully aware of what was going through his mind. He smiled under the shadow of his winged helmet, amused at the apparent last-minute doubts of a master towards his student. If Gigars was completely convinced - as he liked to make others believe - that his apprentice currently marching across the sandy arena would win, then surely he wouldn't be asking for an annulment. He would have grabbed on to the chance to exalt his pupil's qualities while humiliating the one who had foolishly challenged him.

As he waited for the audience to calm down, he took another sip of fresh wine.

They could all disagree with his decision to allow this extra fight for one of the sacred cloths to take place - he himself had doubts if it was the right thing to do - but the fact of the matter was that the entire Sanctuary was gathered there, and not just to see how Gigars's apprentice did. Saga had to admit that he was just as curious as them, if not more, to find out what the other boy could do. That had been the single and simple reason why he had consented to this fight: he wanted to test if it really ended the way everyone expected: with a crushing victory on the part of Gigars's student. He couldn't help wondering about how the years that had passed since Aiolos had betrayed the Sanctuary had influenced the other contestant. He had a feeling that he would not be disappointed.

Suddenly, all the clamouring ceased and a measure of silence returned to the plain limestone stadium. Saga's gaze was drawn to the entrance, where the second fighter, target of his interest and the reason why everyone had gathered there today, under the statue of the goddess, had arrived. The quiet was such that Saga could almost have heard the sand being crushed under the boy's feet as he took the first step. The rest were muffled by the hissing and railing that infectiously spread throughout the crowd from there on. By the time the measly-looking boy had reached his place next to the first fighter, the volume had increased to such proportions that it rivalled the cheering that had been heard for his opponent.

Saga observed it all, careful so he wouldn't miss any detail. Gigars had his back turned towards him now, with each boy standing opposite him on each side. The difference in statures between them was made all the more remarkable by their proximity to each other, but Saga knew better than to pass judgment based on that. If the fiery expression on the second boy's face was of any indication, the fight would be, at the very least, ferocious.

The first young man was tall and lean, but well toned. He was in the mid years of his adolescence and that stage was well noted in his arrogant look upon receiving the audience's full support and especially at their clear dislike of his opponent. He was Gigars's pupil, Phaeton, and he already had a good number of victories to his name in the tournament for the cloth. He obviously thought that there was no way that he'd lose to a stunted-looking little traitor who was only there by special favour from the Pope.

The second youth, on the other hand, had just finished entering adolescence, but in many ways looked older than Phaeton. He was a bit short, as he had yet to reach the age for a growth spurt, but his worn out and dusty clothes did very little to hide his extraordinarily well-defined muscles. His hair was a disorganised mess that had once been blond, with tresses too long to be considered short tumbling rebelliously over a pair of intense sea-green eyes.

Saga found himself at the focus of that gaze and was surprised by the sheer amount of concentration that someone so young could hold under those circumstances. The shouts from the crowd seemed to have no effect on him and, for a moment, Saga wondered if he could even hear them. Clearly, the only opinion that mattered to the young warrior was the one of the person whose eyes he wouldn't let go: that of the Great Pope, ruler of the Sanctuary.

Saga smiled again; the devotion in the gesture pleased and appealed to him. He hadn't been mistaken on one thing: the boy had spirit and he had grown up rather interestingly. It couldn't have been any other way, really - not from the little brother of one of the greatest and most controversial saints in all of the history of the Sanctuary: the despised traitor, Sagittarius Aiolos.

Aiolia and Phaeton were about to fight for the honour of wearing one of Athena's sacred bronze cloths. It would be, without a doubt, a fight to remember.


	2. Brothers

**II.  
Brothers in blood;  
Brothers in arms.**

Aiolia had been trained since a very young age by his brother, Aiolos, so that when he grew up he could become one of the saints who protected peace and the goddess Athena.

Normally, at the end of their training, an aspiring saint would be put to the test in a series of fights against other apprentices. Only the winner of that tournament would be granted the honour of wearing one of the sacred cloths and the title of Athena's saint. Aiolia, however, had been recognised early on by the Pope for having a potential way above average: once he was older, he would join the elite of the Order, the gold saints named after the twelve constellations of the zodiac. As such, it wouldn't be necessary for him to go through the whole ritual to acquire a cloth. The title of gold saint was as much a certainty in his life as the fact that the sky was above and the earth below.

It was a granted fact, that is, until his brother figuratively removed the ground from under his feet by betraying the Sanctuary and the goddess.

The day Aiolos had attempted to murder Athena and fled the Sanctuary in disgrace had been a terrible, terrifying day for little Aiolia. Although his life hadn't been easy nor sheltered from the harshness of reality, until then, the six-year-old had never doubted that there were some things that he'd always be able to count on: his brother; the Leo gold cloth; the Sanctuary. Those simple truths were what sustained and motivated him throughout the difficult, and sometimes cruel, training in his childhood. However, on that day, that unforgettable day, it had all been ripped away from him and the little apprentice suddenly found himself without a brother or a mentor, alone in a place that no longer welcomed him.

He had never been so afraid or had as little hope in the future as then. Eager to distance himself from his brother's deeds, he'd even made a request to the Pope to be given a new master that could keep training him, but his dreams were promptly crushed when the ruler of the Sanctuary had denied it and prohibited him from being taught any further, declaring it was too dangerous: his loyalty was in question. The right to the Leo cloth was taken away, as well as all the small privileges that he'd enjoyed up until then. He was regarded with hatred and mistrust by all.

The young Leo went through some bleak moments, persecuted and humiliated by the population of the Sanctuary, but he eventually recovered his lost hope and determination. If no one was going to teach him, then he would learn by himself and prove to everyone that he was trustworthy and good enough to become a saint. If it wasn't possible for him to earn a gold cloth any more, then he'd get a silver or even a bronze one.

He dedicated all of his energy to it, often risking crossing the line between life and death, but he was determined not to let anything keep him from reaching his goal and clearing the stain that Aiolos had left on his name. He intended to show the Pope his value, and so that there wouldn't be any doubts about it, he'd have to become the strongest.

Years later, when he finally felt he was ready, he asked for a hearing with the Pope. He wasn't sure if he'd be received - after all, he was just the traitor's brother, whom had been denied the right to become a saint - but he had the first sign that things could go in his favour when the door to the chambers opened. He knew that there was currently a tournament going on for one of the bronze cloths and he requested the Pope for permission to join it despite the late stage of the competition.

After thinking it over, the ruler of the Sanctuary had given him his consent. They would wait until the tournament was over and then Aiolia would have a single opportunity to fight the champion for the cloth. If he won that match, he'd be made a saint.

Now that he was at the centre of the coliseum, Aiolia felt that all he had to do was reach out to take hold of all that he'd ever dreamed of. Phaeton was certainly a fearsome opponent for anyone else, but not him.

He was confident.

He allowed himself a moment's distraction before the fight began and gave a look at the surrounding stands. Aiolia soon found familiar faces.

Milo, the Scorpio gold saint: sharing the same age, they had once been close friends. That status had changed, though, to one of fierce rivalry after the incident with Aiolos. As if he felt personally offended by his proximity to the traitor's little brother, Milo had made it his mission to make Aiolia's life a living hell whenever they crossed paths. With time, and possibly lured by the shiny Scorpio cloth, Milo had quickly amassed a group of followers. They were the ones who howled the loudest in the crowd, but it wasn't them that the young sea-green-eyed boy was trying to locate.

Being constantly chased by Milo's group, Aiolia had soon gotten into the habit of exploring the Sanctuary for little frequented spots he could be at peace in. He'd walked all the paths on the cliffs facing the Aegean Sea at least once, and he knew the woods around the restricted women's training grounds better than the back of his hand. It was on one of his visits to that area that he had met her...

_"Aiolia, are you sure about what you're doing?"_

"Yes, Marin. Please don't be worried. Everything will work out, you'll see. Next time we talk, I'll be a bronze saint, I promise!"

At the moment, he couldn't find even a hint of the fiery red hair of the one who had supported him the most. Closing his eyes, he tried to get a feel for her cosmo, that inner energy that was unique to each individual, but the effort was in vain. There were too many emotions running wild in that arena to make out any one in particular. Still, he knew that it didn't matter if he couldn't see her - she was in the middle of that crowd somewhere, he was sure of it. Marin had promised him that she'd be there and she would never go back on her word. Although younger than him by a few years, Marin had become his best friend.

She had arrived at the Sanctuary from Japan after Aiolos's death and, being the only Asian there, found great resistance to the possibility of becoming a saint. Like Aiolia, she was having difficulty getting accepted. She had told Aiolia that before she had started using the mandatory mask that all women were required to wear, all her companions had pointed at her differently shaped eyes and laughed.

Strangely, when they met for the first time in the woods, Marin had recognised him as "the one they told me to stay away from" and the first thing she'd done when she saw Aiolia turning to walk away was to say that the same thing was happening to her. Since then, they had become nearly inseparable, supporting each other and each day discovering all of the things they had in common.

Gigars should be about to give the start sign, though, so Aiolia focused back on the present. He was surprised when he found not the crystal-eyed commander, but Phaeton's fist in a direct collision course with his nose. He clenched his teeth in preparation for the hit, knowing that it was too late to dodge or defend.

The fight had begun.


	3. Leo's golden cosmo

**III.  
Burn golden cosmo!  
A trial by fire.**

Aiolia fell hard onto the ground.

Phaeton's punch had been true and ruthless enough to open a cut on the side of his face that made it look like he was crying tears of blood. Sand immediately glued itself to the wound, but Aiolia could barely feel enough of his arms to lift himself up, much less the discomfort of the scratching grains. He'd taken a powerful blow: his head was spinning.

Phaeton was delighted, watching his opponent's struggle to pull himself back together; he'd hit the traitor dead on. Confident that the Leo wouldn't be getting up any time soon and that he'd already proven which one of them deserved to move on and receive the title of saint, he turned towards the expectant crowd and rose his arms in a sign of victory. The answering cheer was deafening.

Gigars cast a glance at the Pope, silently asking if he could signal the end of the match, but Saga gestured for him to wait. The commander of the army was disappointed by the order - he had no idea what it was that his master thought might still happen -, until he remembered that maybe what he wanted was to discreetly purge the Sanctuary of traitors, by making this a fight to the death. Gigars let an evil little grin take over his face: could that be the real reason why the Pope had given permission for this sorry spectacle to take place?

When the crystal-eyed man returned his attention to the fighters, Aiolia was slowly getting up. Phaeton had noticed it too and, seeing that Gigars wasn't doing anything, relaxed back into a fighting stance.

Aiolia's movements were shaky at first and he tried to take deep breaths to clear his head. His eyes, though, never left Phaeton. He might have been temporarily knocked down, but he would not be caught unaware a second time.

"You should have stayed down, like the vermin you are. You'd save yourself a lot of needless suffering," mocked Gigars's apprentice. "Don't you see you don't stand a chance? No one in their right mind would ever give one of the sacred cloths to a traitor like you!"

Aiolia laughed along. He was so focused on his goal that there was no room in his mind for childish taunts. It was the same kind of thing that he'd been hearing from Milo and his group for years, and he was starting to think that maybe they just had a weak imagination for always saying the same things. On the other hand, the longer Phaeton laughed, the longer he'd have to recover from that treacherous attack.

"Phaeton, if you can't do any better than little pats like this one, I suggest you quit, because you're the one who won't stand a chance of winning," Aiolia shouted back when he was sure he was ready.

"Why, you...!"

Angered, Phaeton threw himself into a new attack. He ran head on towards Aiolia with his fist stretched out and in place for a repeat of the deed from minutes ago. This time, however, his opponent was prepared. Aiolia evaded, taking a step back and squatting so he could reach Phaeton under the arm he kept up to protect his thorax.

Both of them stepped away from each other after the exchange.

This time, Gigars's student was the one who had lost his breath. Each competitor had now managed to score a hit, and the looks they cast at each other were fuller of hatred than ever.

They leapt simultaneously and crashed against each other half-way. Aiolia's fist found Phaeton's knee, and Phaeton's elbow was stopped by the other's forearm. They were inches away from each other, ferociously trading blows that were always blocked, no matter how fast they tried to send them. Each time one of them tried to go around the other to strike him from behind, he'd quickly turn around and foil the attack.

Aiolia's knuckles were getting sore from constantly hitting the protections Phaeton wore and he himself did not. Recognising that the fight was going to be harder to win than he'd thought, Aiolia jumped back in an attempt to distance himself from the close-quarters confrontation.

Seeing the show of weakness that meant his adversary was cracking, Phaeton followed him like a shadow and gave him no rest. He kept raining down punches and kicks that were always avoided or stopped. He was getting frustrated - Aiolia had fallen so easily in the beginning, why was he resisting so much now? And more importantly - how was it that he could keep up with his relentless rhythm?

From the stands around the arena, the whole Sanctuary was cheering and applauding for their favourite. Many were looking on open-mouthed at the display of skill from both fighters. Everyone had already seen Gigars's student fight before in that very same arena and so they knew that he was a worthy warrior. Seeing him now, struggling to land a single blow on the traitor's brother, was rather disturbing. The crystal-eyed commander was starting to wonder if it had been a wise choice to let the traitor's brother live to gain that level of skill, or if it wouldn't have been better for them to have killed him the moment Aiolos had revealed his true colours.

Saga, on the other hand, was marveled. He knew that Aiolia had been marked by the previous Pope Shion as having the potential to become one of the twelve gold saints, but he had imagined that that power had faded over the years with the lack of training, or that due to the absence of a master who could hone them, Aiolia might have permanently lost the necessary control to access his cosmo. He could see now that he had been deeply mistaken.

Neither of the two fighters had yet used an attack that went beyond the strictly physical, but each time Aiolia moved, Saga could almost see that a golden trail was left behind. His cosmo was bubbling under the little one's determined front, and each time the little Leo's face turned in his direction, the Pope could see the way the masterless apprentice's eyes were simmering. What that boy had was not a wild force; he could sense clearly that Aiolia had it perfectly under control. The minute he wanted it, he could unleash that energy to destroy his enemies and, no matter how gifted Phaeton was, he'd be incapable of resisting that devastating power when it came.

Aiolia kept trying to free himself from Phaeton, but he wasn't getting so much as a moment to breathe. If he leapt back, soon the other would leap even further to catch him from behind and it was useless to try to overwhelm him with his physical attacks, for they were always intercepted by one of the many protections covering Phaeton's body.

The time had come to switch strategies.

He searched within himself for that energy unique to the saints and felt it rise immediately in response. He saw Phaeton's eyes widen when a slight golden glow enveloped his body and allowed his strikes to become faster and faster. Gigars's pupil burned his cosmo too to counterattack, but it soon became obvious that he didn't have enough control over it to keep up with the new pace imposed by Aiolia.

The guards around his forearms, shoulders, chest, head and knees were soon not enough to counter the enemy's fury and, gradually, the attacks started slipping through his defenses. When a particularly well-aimed punch tore apart the metal plate protecting his chest, Phaeton felt his ribs fracture and he was projected back as a result of the power concentrating around Aiolia's fists.

When he tried to stand again, he moaned in pain and had to quickly double over to spit out the blood threatening to choke him.

At this new sight, the audience was quickly silenced. If they had been surprised before, now they were fearful. Those who didn't know enough about cosmo thought that Phaeton's fall and the way Aiolia was glowing with a golden aura was unusual; the rest could realise that something extraordinary was unfolding before their eyes.

With the silence that had descended upon the coliseum and the fact that Phaeton was still down, Saga seized the opportunity to rise from his throne and make an announcement.

"The winner has been found; this fight is over," he said. His imperious voice easily reached the other end of the stadium. Gigars went to his student and gave him a hand up, while Aiolia immediately straightened into a posture of respect towards the Pope. "You have both fought fearlessly and with honour, but only one can take this cloth. Phaeton: you have proven your valour today, once more. I now appoint you as a bronze saint. Kneel down to receive your cloth and take your oath!"

Everyone was stunned by the Pope's statement, but none more than Aiolia. He found this blow was much harder to bear than the one he'd gotten from Phaeton in the beginning of the fight.

All of his hopes and dreams were dissolving like smoke in the wind.


	4. The Pope's gift

**IV.  
Rekindled hope!  
The Pope's gift.**

Aiolia stood frozen on the spot, his eyes wide open, but completely unseeing of the world around him. He didn't notice when a pair of guards brought down the pandora's box holding the cloth he had desired so much to the arena, or when Phaeton shuffled past him, leaning heavily on his teacher, while making his way forward to receive his reward. The crowd had gone mad in its cheering, but the only sounds echoing inside the little blond's head were those of the Pope's words, consecrating Phaeton as the winner.

He suddenly realised that his hands were stinging. He looked down to find the skin over his knuckles was broken but, more than that, they were clenched so tightly that the bleeding had staunched. Aiolia hadn't been aware that he was doing it - he was sure that all strength had left him as soon as the Pope had finished speaking.

He couldn't have heard it right, he told himself. Phaeton couldn't be the winner, not when Aiolia had demonstrated his superiority so thoroughly. Even if his adversary had managed to score that one lucky hit, Aiolia had beaten him solidly afterwards, proving that he was the better fighter and that his was the greater cosmo... hadn't he?

He looked back to the Pope, hoping to find some indication that what he thought he had heard had been a mistake and that somehow they were waiting for Aiolia to step forward. His fleeting hopes were dispelled, though, when he saw the pandora's box open to reveal a blue, red and yellow bronze cloth that moved as if by magic to cover Phaeton's injured body.

The crowd's roaring filled his ears then, and the ice that had been constricting his heart shattered. Aiolia decided that he'd had enough. He didn't wait another moment before leaving the stadium.

Everything was quiet outside - too quiet. All the training fields were deserted, since everyone was at the coliseum, so there was nothing to disturb the peaceful, arid landscape of white, rocky cliffs and barren plateaus.

Aiolia found that this situation did not please his state of mind at all.

He threw himself at the closest obstacle - a carved stone column, slightly tilted - and, bloody knuckles notwithstanding, all it took was a flash of golden light and a furious shout to break it into pieces. His fist lay suspended in midair for a few moments afterwards, before the little Leo decided that it still wasn't enough to satisfy all the burning emotions roiling inside him.

He went over to a massive boulder and was about to repeat the deed, when a cry from behind made him hesitate.

"Aiolia, stop!"

The commanding, but familiar voice was like a cold shower that helped clear his mind, but it still wasn't enough to completely pacify his anger.

The boulder was soon pulverised, the particles spreading out in a cloud of dust that would settle seamlessly over the rest of the sand.

"Marin," Aiolia answered, shoulders finally slumping in defeat. "I failed."

Marin didn't say anything to that, instead stepping closer so they were face to face. Aiolia's sea-green eyes were downcast, lost in their examination of the remains of the boulder. Small sparks of lightning were running over the surface his fist had just punched through.

"It was unfair, you were much better than him, but don't give up," the girl stated. "Next time..."

"Next time what, Marin?" he shouted looking up into the silver mask covering the face of his best friend. He immediately hated himself for shouting at her, but he just couldn't help it. "Do you really think it will be any different? And that's assuming I even get a chance to try again - I was lucky enough to have been given this one!"

He turned away, unable to look at Marin. She was standing very still, very silent, and even though he couldn't see her face, even though there were no external signs as to what might be going through her mind, he just knew that she was feeling sorry for him. He hated it.

"I should just face it. Phaeton was right - they were all right! No one's going to give a cloth to the traitor's brother! You should probably back away from me too while you can, if you ever want to become a saint."

"Don't be stupid," Marin answered with the same strict, determined tone as before. "I'd never..."

"Excuse me," a nasally voice interrupted.

Aiolia and Marin turned to find one of the Sanctuary guards there, shifting from foot to foot and generally looking like he'd rather be anywhere else other than there.

"The Pope wishes to see you in his chambers right away," he reported to Aiolia. Mission accomplished, he retreated back to the stadium, where the many sounds of celebration could still be heard. "Traitor..." he muttered to himself when he was some distance away.

Aiolia still heard it, though, and clenched his teeth to keep himself from doing anything worse. He managed to keep his temper in check this time and, sparing a wave at his friend, set out to go meet the ruler of the Sanctuary.

"Good luck," he heard Marin call out.

*** * ***

When he reached the temple that belonged to the Pope, Aiolia was surprised to find a pair of guards waiting outside. He slowed down, immediately on edge at the unusual sight - was he being set up, had the Sanctuary finally decided that they'd had enough of him, were the Pope's orders just a ruse to get him isolated? - but they ignored him as he crossed the majestic columned entrance.

He made it to the great hall where the Pope's throne was located and was met with another odd sight: the golden floor-to-ceiling doors were open ajar and the Pope was nowhere to be seen. Unsure as to what was going on, the little, weary blond almost jumped when a booming voice reverberated throughout the wide room.

"Come in, Aiolia. This way."

It was the Pope and it was coming from somewhere in front of him. After looking behind him to be certain that he was alone, he made his way over the rich, red carpet that led into the audience room and towards the source of the sound. Sure enough, there stood the Pope, to the side of the throne and hidden among the columns, with his dark robes and red winged helmet.

"You fought well today," he said.

"Apparently not well enough," Aiolia couldn't help retorting. He immediately bit his tongue and reprimanded himself for talking back to the representative of the goddess, but fortunately the man did not seem to mind.

"Are you angry because of my decision?" Aiolia didn't have to respond - the fire he could simply not hold back from his gaze was enough of an answer for the Pope. "I wasn't wrong, you know. Phaeton did deserve to become a bronze saint more than you."

The remark stung and suddenly all Aiolia wanted was to get this over with as quickly as possible. He hated the way the Pope was making him feel, but he hated the way he could not keep his own emotions in check more. On the inside, he was raging at the Pope, his honourable leader, whom he should be treating with the utmost respect rather than fury and spite - and he should definitely not be accusing the most righteous man on Earth of committing an injustice.

The Pope made a little sound at the back of his throat - Aiolia thought it might have been amusement, or perhaps mocking - but spoke no further. Instead, he stepped aside, revealing an object that had been hidden behind his voluminous robes: a golden pandora's box with the engraving of a lion's head on the side.

Aiolia forgot how to breathe after he saw it. He knew exactly what it was, but he was almost fearful of hoping that it meant what he thought it might.

"It's yours," came the simple statement.

The rumpled-looking blond could not believe his ears. This... was too good to be true. After everything he had gone through in the past years, there was no way he would be so lucky... The Pope was still there, though, silently giving him room to process the information and no doubt studying his reaction. He wasn't laughing, and when Aiolia took a shaky step closer and reached to touch the box, he wasn't stopped. Could it be that... this was for real?

His legs gave out and he knelt in front of the golden box containing the Leo cloth - his cloth - and the Pope. It was overwhelming. His hand rose once again to rest reverently on top of the engraving of his guardian constellation.

The metal was cool at first, unnaturally smooth, but Aiolia could have sworn that he felt something warm and powerful flicker to life inside, answering his touch. He smiled, remembering what his brother had once told him about the cloths: _"they are alive."_ The energy he felt now was nothing like the feeble burst that he'd witnessed when Phaeton had donned his cloth, and Aiolia could only wonder what it would be like when he actually opened the box.

He was all but exhausted and there was no one in the room but him and the Pope. The entire Sanctuary currently believed him to have been humiliated in his fight against Phaeton and it was likely that they were all still in the coliseum, rambunctiously celebrating his defeat - but Aiolia had never felt better.

"There are still other trials you will have to take to prove yourself worthy of wearing that cloth," the Pope said, bringing Aiolia back to the real world. "Phaeton was hardly a proper adversary to truly measure your strength. However, I see no reason to keep it from you."

"Thank you, sir. You won't regret this! I..." Aiolia fumbled, then he noticed he was still kneeling and another old memory of something his brother had taught him in preparation of the day when he would be made a saint surfaced. "For Athena, for Justice and for Peace, I swear..."

"There's no need for that now, Aiolia," the Pope cut in. "There will be plenty of time for you to take your vow later."

The young Leo looked up at him curiously - as far as he knew, it was customary for new saints to pledge themselves to the goddess as soon as they received their cloths - but he found no more explanations to it under the dark shadow of the Pope's helmet.

"Go on," the ruler of the Sanctuary told him. "Open it."

Aiolia was confused and thrilled again, all at once. _"You should only put on your cloth when your life is in danger or when you're serving Athena. There's no room for empty vanity in a saint, little brother."_ Aiolos had been a traitor, though. What did he know about being a saint, Aiolia thought viciously. Giving in to his curiosity, he pulled the chain dangling from the lion's mouth that would open the cloth's box.

He only got a glimpse of an imposing figure of a roaring beast, half covered by white fabric, before the cloth started shining like a miniature sun. It was too bright, and while his eyes were closed to recover from the burning, Aiolia completely missed the spectacle of the cloth disassembling and piecing itself back together around him. All he knew was that there was suddenly a tingling sensation, gently prodding at his cosmo and enticing it to burn to heights it had never reached before. None of his wounds bothered him anymore. He felt exhilarated, rejuvenated...

"You've been accepted, it seems," Saga commented. Aiolia was too dumbfounded by what it felt like to wear a cloth to come up with an answer. "But your journey is only just beginning.

"Rise, gold saint of Athena!"

**  
The End.**


End file.
